When we were very young, all 6 (later 7, when my brother Jim was born), of us would pile into the station wagon after school on the day before Thanksgiving and Dad would drive us to Philly for the holiday weekend. Of course, everyone knows that the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is one of the busiest travel days of the year and expects to take extra time. But not my dad. He always seemed surprised that anyone else would be on the Jersey Turnpike and that traffic would slow to a crawl. I had to sit up front between my parents because I was the one who always got car sick. I didn't realize until years later that the smoke from my father's cigarette is what made me nauseous....especially when I was sitting in the thickest part of the smoke. I was always sorry that I didn't get to sit in the back and "fool" with my sisters and brothers. The only time I was glad to not be in the back is when my brother Ned decided to take his shoes off as we were crossing the George Washington Bridge. As the odor wafted through the car, my sisters' screams of horror and disgust almost caused my dad to drive us right into the Hudson River. I don't think anyone was allowed to make another sound until we entered the state of Pennsylvania.
When God was handing out patience my dad must have gotten tired of waiting in line and missed out entirely, so traffic was not something you wanted to be stuck in with Dad. By the time we reached my grandparents' house, nobody was speaking and giving thanks was the last thing we were thinking about. (My dad would immediately go inside and start mapping out the best route to take home on Sunday...which everyone knows is the busiest travel day of the year. Somehow no one ever had the nerve to mention this to my dad.)
This picture of my dad was taken many years later when we were all grown and had children of our own. As you can see from his expression, he never did warm up to the Thanksgiving holiday!
